They Don't Know
by Altocat
Summary: In a single night, what was left of Azula's innocence is stolen from her. Reviews greatly appreciated.


She hadn't expected it. That night when the world came crashing to an obliterating halt and the stars from the sky seemed to shatter and come tumbling down into the earth.

Chanzo. His name was Chanzo. He was a boisterous upstart soldier for the Fire Nation, a great bastard of a man with an arrogance that exceeded all possible expectations. She hated him. Her father hated him. _Everyone _hated him.

At only eleven years of age, scarcely only a few weeks after her big brother's 'departure' from home, she understood what it was like to hate someone with all her heart. She already had experience in hate when it came to her mother. Ursa—who had abandoned her, who had always favored and coddled dear precious little Zuzu, who had never noticed just how _rough _her father could be whenever he trained with her. How she had hated her mother so. She had hated Zuko too. Oh, she supposed there were still a few lingering feelings of sibling affection still within her for her poor burned brother. But there was just as much hate to equal it out. Now that her brother was gone, she knew that she would one day rise up to be the true heir of the Fire Nation. Fire Lord Azula, the greatest of them all. She had loathed her brother for many reasons, for stealing her mother's heart, for consistently whining and keening and showing immense amounts of weakness that Father deemed unacceptable. But one of the biggest issues was that he _dared _to stand in her way. He was no heir to the throne. He could not bend lightning or satisfy Father's war-hungry heart. It was always her. She was the one.

Chanzo, on the other hand, was a different matter altogether. She, in all her eleven years of life, could not find a more reprehensible and detestable man than Chanzo. His laugh was irritating, he swaggered around and bragged to his fellow soldiers about his might and cunning when really there was no extraordinary talent to be displayed. He always reeked of smoke and alcohol and had a distinct unwashed look to his hair as it hung limply from his head in a mess of greasy black curls. But that wasn't why she hated him. She hated the way he _looked _at her. From the moment he first saw her, he had never stopped following her around, always staring at her with a look that troubled her greatly. It was as if she were some sort of…prey. But why? She was his Princess! He should have been bowing down and declaring himself unfit to DARE to be near her. And yet there he was day after day, watching her, eying her up with those hungry eyes. It confused her. And the confusion only made her all the more disgusted with his presence. And so, she hated him with every fiber of her being. Chanzo was dirt. He was as lowly as a peasant.

And after that one horrid night, he would become more than that to her. Chanzo would be more than just common hateful filth. He would become…a monster.

XxX

With all her hatred for Chanzo, she would still, years later, not understand just why she had gone with him that night, following after him in the darkness towards a secluded hut a small distance away from the palace. Somehow, he had convinced her, coaxing her with the promise of a sacred fire-bending scroll that had just recently been discovered.

"Not much farther now, Princess," he had whispered as she followed after him in the dim moonlight. "I have it here with me. We must read it where no one else can see though. It's a secret. Wouldn't want your father to discover it, hm?"

In hindsight, she knew that she was cleverer than this. She should have known. But as simple as the ruse was, it had compelled her young child's mind. A sacred fire-bending scroll that her father didn't even know about! If she could master it without him knowing she could impress him more than ever! It was good bait, a delicious feast for her to gobble up. With Zuko gone, it made sense that she did everything in her power to find new ways of currying favor with her father. All the better for her future. Maybe then Father would stop hitting her so hard whenever she failed to perform a firebending move that was less than perfect.

"Hurry up," she had barked at Chanzo, golden eyes glowing in the darkness. "If Father knows I'm out without permission, it won't just be me he lashes out against. It will be you too, Chanzo." She smirked at the thought. "Actually, DO take your time. I'm anticipating it."

"Shhh, Princess. We're almost there…" The hut. The lowly stinking hut. It was a peasant's dump. It had been enough to get her to wrinkle her nose in disgust.

"Explain to me again why it is HERE of all places you want to show me?"

"All in good time, Princess," Chanzo had replied with a low chuckle.

"It's a really impressive scroll isn't it? One for lightning-bending?"

"You bet it is. It's the thing legends are made of."

"Hurry UP then! I haven't got all night. Keep me waiting any longer and I'll see to it that my father has you demoted."

Chanzo had chuckled again. "WILL you now?"

"It's not funny. _I'm _a princess. I give the order and you die."

"And here I am about to show you such a wonderful surprise…"

"I hate that word. Puh…'surprise'….it sounds as if you're going to—" She never got to finish the sentence. The minute Chanzo opened the door to the hut and had slipped into the darkness with her following behind, her world went black and she felt herself falling to the ground as a mixture of nausea and unconsciousness overtook her.

She awoke to the feeling of being bound, her arms tied behind her back. Her head was pounding, throbbing with pain. What was going on? Had she tripped? Had she been hit with something? Was she dreaming? Was she—

Chanzo was on top of her. His breath was sour and hot and he was pinning her down. She attempted to scream but no sounds came out. Her throat had closed up, as if she had suddenly had every last scrap of air sucked clean out of her body.

"I've wanted this for quite a while, little princess," he crooned softly in her ear. "You have no idea…"

She was shaking. He was doing something to her. She only vaguely just realized that the red tunic that had covered her body was gone, taken from her to hide somewhere in that cold blackness. The floor was wooden and hard, no light to be seen in the hut save for one or two pockets of moonlight that streamed from the cracks in the ceiling. Her fingers twitched. She had to bend. She had to do _something! _But her hands…she couldn't get them free. Not with him pinning her down like this.

Then she felt it, felt _him _within her. She had made it a rule ever since she was small to never cry. Father had always said it was a sign of weakness. But she could feel a slick hotness streaming from her eyes down her cheeks. In that moment, she wanted to die, wanted to burn up in a great flame hotter than the very ones she conjured with her hands. Her voice croaked, bone-dry but fighting for sanity, for control.

"St-stop."

"What was that?"

"Stop. Stop it."

But Chanzo didn't stop. She couldn't take it. In that minute, her vision blurred and danced before her eyes in the darkness. She could see faces whirling in front of her…Zuzu…her old pudgy uncle…her father…If her father knew what this horrid man was doing to her, he would absolutely kill him for it. No one hurt Ozai's heir. Her father could protect her. He could make all the bad things go away. He could—

"Mother!" Her lips had moved on her own. "Mother! Help me! Help me!" She didn't even know what she was saying, the sticky hot tears drenching her face as Chanzo continued his slow and painful pace. "Help me…please help me….Mommy…Mother….don't let me…please…help…" Ursa. Gone from her life, forever vanished into shadows and dust beyond her reach. Her mother wasn't here. She never had been here and she most certainly wasn't going to be now when she needed her the most.

And Azula, eleven years old, shut her eyes and let Chanzo finish, erupting into a loud grunt before he finally rolled off her and lay there in the dark. She lay there in silence, staring at the wall, counting the cracks. Her hands twitched in the binds, coiling like snakes. The ropes loosened slightly.

Here she was. Princess. Beloved daughter of Firelord Ozai. Here she was snared like an animal. Had Chanzo really enjoyed it? Had he honestly enjoyed doing this to his leader's very own child knowing what a risk it would be? She had to wonder.

The ropes loosened again.

What would dear old Zuzu say? Fat chance he'd say anything. Big brother was always so naïve when it came to such things. Or maybe he wouldn't care at all. Or wouldn't believe her. Azula always lies after all.

Loosen.

Yes…Azula always lies. Azula does lots of things she shouldn't do. Azula sets fire to the bushes, throws stones at the turtleducks in the pond. Azula schemes and torments and cheats. Azula bears the brunt of her father's frustration whenever he's feeling particularly angry, always hiding some burns or bruises from training when Mai and Ty Lee can't see.

Loosen.

Azula plots. Azula snaps and laughs at the pain of others. Azula is Mother's nightmare, less-favored, always sent to her room.

Loosen.

Azula looks at herself in the mirror, studying herself, sometimes wondering whether she really is the foul creature her mother always thought her to be. Azula debates whether her father really is the only person worth putting any value in. Azula gambles and deceives and builds up her strength in her training, dreaming of the day where the crowds will be chanting her name, singing the praises of the greatest leader the Fire Nation has ever seen.

And tonight, for the first time, here in this empty dark shack, her binds slowly undoing themselves with her hand movements and a pair of twin blue flames sparking at her fingertips, Azula _kills. _

XxX

She's covered in blood when she makes it back to the palace. Her father gives her a single questioning look as she approaches him. Her eyes are blank, her face a mask of sticky crimson. The others are frantically scrambling about asking where Chanzo went, questioning her why her clothing is torn and why she's coated and reeking of blood and death. She says nothing. She simply stares up at her father, her pupils dilating and contracting every few seconds. Her knees feel weak and her entire body is surging with pain. She wonders if he'll hurt her or yell at her. She simply waits for him to say something.

"Azula."

"Father."

"Your clothes…why…?"

She blinks at him, her expression robotic, empty. "I had an…issue, Father."

"An issue?"

Her legs are shaking. Her eyes are twitching and she remembers everything. For a moment, she wants to collapse at her father's feet and cling to him. She wants him to protect her and take her in his arms and hold her the way her mother had always held Zuko. But she knows he will never do any such thing. Father is strong. Father will strike her. Father…could never possibly understand. She realizes that now in this hellish moment. And, to her Father's surprise, her lips curl into a smile.

"I took care of it, Father. I took care of it."

Ozai's eyebrow raises and he dismisses her, barking at the others to quiet down and commence a search for Chanzo. As Azula walks down the halls towards her room, she can still feel his eyes staring at her from behind, contemplating.

And Azula's smile grows. She'll go back to her spot in front of the mirror tonight, lips freshly-coated with lipstick, a terrifying gleam in her eyes. And she'll laugh as she shatters the glass into pieces, relishing the painful prick of the shards lodged in her fist.

Years from now, she'll sit in the blackness of the room in the asylum, watching as the world goes by without her. And she'll smile even as the tears fall down her cheeks once more. They can call her a monster all they want. But she met a real monster that night. And they don't know. It's her little secret. They. Don't. Know.

As she cackles and shrieks through the tears, the image of Ursa stoops down and attempts to whisper gentle murmurs in her ear, cooing soothing words she'll never accept to be true. In the palace, Zuko tosses and turns in his sleep, wrestling with old demons and old wounds. Ozai snickers in his cell, recalling better days when he was in his prime and had the chance to engulf the world in a single mighty flame. And worlds away, Noriko sleeps close to her husband, Kiyi nestled snuggly between them, a tiny hand trustingly grasping her father's index finger in the midst of her slumber.


End file.
